


Paid in Full

by Capriccio



Category: Merlin (BBC)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-09-10
Updated: 2010-09-10
Packaged: 2017-10-11 15:57:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,095
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/114109
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Capriccio/pseuds/Capriccio
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It isn't the conventional way to go about things, but a glass of red wine spilling on a white shirt—and the promise of repayment—is as good a place to start as any. (Or, Arthur and Merlin do everything backwards, but they do it right anyway.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Paid in Full

**Author's Note:**

> Also available on livejournal [here](http://capricornucopia.livejournal.com/6180.html) and on dreamwidth [here](http://capriccio.dreamwidth.org/519.html).
> 
> My eternal gratitude to **binglejells** for the lifesaving, last-minute beta and her superhuman powers in helping me smooth out my words. Thank you so much for your patience and kindness! :) All remaining mistakes are my own. Thank you to **yue_ix** for being my ~~fairy godmother~~ pinch hit artist and producing such beautiful work that I am in awe of. My deepest appreciation for her insightful suggestions and her warm support when I needed it the most. ♥ And thank you to the mods of **whizzbangpop** for the hosting the challenge and giving me the opportunity to challenge myself.

  


* * *

  
Merlin stretches out comfortably on the old sofa as he turns a page in his favourite book. The sofa knows all the angles and curves of his body, and Merlin knows its lumpy bits and the places where the fabric is worn and soft just as well. He’s grateful that his mum let them take it from her house when he and Gwen moved into a flat together last year.

“Merlin!” Gwen calls as she steps into the room.

Merlin looks up from his book and gently places a finger between the pages to mark his place. The book is a gift from his great-uncle Gaius, leather-bound with a few loose pages, and he’s always careful with it. “What is it?” he asks.

“I’ve just heard from Arthur. He’s going to stop by early before the party and help with the set up,” Gwen says cheerfully.

The book falls to the floor, its pages fluttering as it tumbles.

“I don’t know, Gwen,” Merlin says slowly. “Wouldn’t it be a better idea to switch places with Arthur and let him lead Lancelot here?”

“Arthur lead Lancelot to our flat?” Gwen repeats, giving Merlin an odd look. “Wouldn’t that be a little suspicious?”

“Lancelot is a very trusting sort of fellow. I’m sure he wouldn’t suspect a thing,” Merlin says brightly.

“I don’t understand,” Gwen says, frowning at him thoughtfully. “You were so excited about the surprise party this morning. Is something wrong?” She hops up onto the arm of the sofa on the far side and swings her legs around to gently kick at Merlin’s socked feet with her own.

Merlin drums his fingers idly on his stomach and says nothing. There’s a lengthy pause, and Merlin knows that she’ll suss it out soon.

“That’s it, isn’t it? Arthur?” Gwen says as her eyes widen in understanding. “As soon as I mentioned him, you—”

Merlin scowls and narrows his eyes at her.

Gwen clears her throat nervously and begins again. “I know he can be a bit of a bully, but he’s not as bad as all that,” she says.

“Really?” Merlin says. “He calls me names all the time, Gwen. You’ve heard him.”

“And I’ve heard you call him worse,” Gwen responds. “You’ll have to sort it out somehow before the party, and then you can ignore him the rest of night, all right? I know Lancelot would love to have Arthur at the party,” she continues, patting Merlin’s hand consolingly.

“I can’t believe I’m agreeing to this,” Merlin grumbles. He leans over the side of the sofa in an attempt to fish his book from the floor, but his fingers only close on empty air.

Gwen smiles gratefully. She slides off the sofa to pick up the book and hands it back to Merlin. “Thank you, Merlin,” she says quietly, and Merlin can’t find it in himself to begrudge her the win. She pauses and throws him an uncertain glance. “Unless you think Lancelot wouldn’t like it since we’re already celebrating his birthday at the pub next week?” she asks hesitantly.

“I’m sure he’ll think it’s brilliant,” Merlin assures her.

Gwen gives him a quick hug. “You’re lovely, Merlin,” she says fondly.

Merlin thumbs ruefully through the pages of his book. “Honestly, I can’t believe I haven’t ruined the surprise yet,” he says.

“I’m very glad you haven’t,” Gwen says, and at Merlin’s curious look she quickly adds, “Not that you’re not good at keeping secrets, of course.”

Merlin grins.

* * *

The thing about Lancelot being such a good guy (aside from the fact that he still lives with his mum and therefore doesn’t have a place of his own to throw a surprise party) is that everyone else likes him too. Lancelot has friends from all walks of life and Merlin is sure that most of them will be at the party.

Therein lies the problem: Arthur Pendragon, Lancelot’s best mate. Arthur is also, coincidentally, heir to Camelot, one of the largest hotel chains in the country. Uther Pendragon, the founder and Arthur’s father, is known for being both ruthless and aggressive. He shares these traits (along with his incredible wealth) with his only son.

However, Merlin hadn’t known any of this when Lancelot first introduced them. Lancelot tended to leave off important things like proper titles when making acquaintances, but Merlin couldn’t say he would have acted any differently had he known. All Merlin had known was white-hot anger when Arthur grinned at him infuriatingly and said that Lancelot was a sucker for strays and _would_ make friends with just about anyone. Merlin, of course, replied that Arthur was arrogant, rude, and perfect proof of how far the lengths of Lancelot’s legendary kindness stretched. That was the beginning of trading insults (and the occasional blow) whenever they crossed paths.

When Arthur arrives at the flat before the party, he brusquely informs Merlin that he is only there to supervise and make sure Merlin doesn’t muck things up. Merlin would very much like to strangle him, but he thinks that cleaning up the body would just be more work than he can handle at the moment.

Arthur jokes about Merlin being “quite the servant” as Merlin cleans up and prepares the flat for the other guests coming to the party. Merlin looks forward to their arrival if only to avoid spending any more time alone with Arthur than strictly necessary.

“Do this often, do you?” Arthur calls. He’s sprawled languidly across the sofa looking, as much as Merlin hates to admit it, elegant in his crisp white shirt and dark trousers.

Merlin looks up from where he’s scrubbing the sink and lets out an exasperated breath. “I have no idea why you agreed to come early and help out if you’re just going to sit there and make smart remarks,” he says.

“Guinevere asked me to come,” Arthur says loftily. “I couldn’t say no. Besides, it’s much more entertaining to watch you bumble about as you work.”

Merlin rolls his eyes. “Gwen asked you to come and help set up for the party,” he says, peeling off his rubber gloves. “Don’t know what she was thinking, really. I don’t suppose you’ve ever cleaned up after yourself, have you?”

“We have cleaning staff for that,“ Arthur replies jovially. “In fact, there’s an opening at one of our newest locations. You wouldn’t be interested in applying, would you?”

Merlin grits his teeth and ignores him.

Arthur waits a beat, then adds, “Nevermind. I wouldn’t recommend you for it, anyway. You’re rubbish at this.”

“Shut up,” Merlin says viciously. He takes the fruit platter (Merlin is apt to set things on fire just by looking at them, so cold food only for now) out from the refrigerator. “Make yourself useful. Go put this on the table there,” he says to Arthur, gesturing with a jerk of his chin.

Grinning, Arthur walks toward the kitchen and takes the platter, fingers brushing against Merlin’s. “Gladly,” he says, and pops a grape into his mouth before leisurely walking back to the table in front of the sofa.

Merlin continues to putter about the flat, setting out the rest of the food. He tries not to trip over Arthur, who is apparently doing his best to stay underfoot and annoy Merlin to the fullest. In fact, it takes Merlin longer to set everything in order than if he were alone because Arthur continues to do absolutely nothing except insult Merlin and eat all the food. Merlin has to swat his hands away from the trays before the party even begins.

Arthur is finally goaded into action when Merlin asks him what he wants to do with the wine. Arthur shakes his head wordlessly and grabs the bottles out of Merlin’s hands (lest he break them, apparently) and begins opening one in particular to “let it breathe”. Merlin shrugs; he’s never had much of a head for alcohol, after all.

Finally, everything is as ready as it’s going to get. Merlin rubs his face tiredly. “I’m going to go change,” he tells Arthur. “Don’t eat everything while I’m gone.”

Arthur’s eyes drift over to the bedroom doors for a moment, and then he turns his gaze back to Merlin. “Wouldn’t dream of it,” he says carelessly.

Casting a quick glance around the room to make sure he hasn’t forgotten anything, Merlin trudges to his bedroom and pokes ruefully around in his wardrobe for a decent shirt to wear. He pulls out a collared blue shirt, his favourite colour, and shrugs it on. He’s not out to impress any of Lancelot’s friends (least of all Arthur), but he knows that Gwen bought a lovely new dress for the occasion, and he doesn’t want to end up looking like a slob.

When Merlin emerges from the bedroom, he sees Arthur glance up briefly from where he’s still sitting on the sofa. His eyes linger over Merlin’s chest for a moment before he quickly looks away. Before Merlin can do more than scowl at Arthur for his stupid rich-boy attitude, the doorbell rings.

Arthur raises an eyebrow at Merlin and stays seated.

“Why don’t you let me get that, sire?” Merlin says sarcastically. He walks over to the door to open it.

“By all means,” Arthur says, the pompous ass.

Merlin yanks open the door and is almost overrun by three or four of Arthur’s—and Lancelot’s, of course—friends barrelling in. One of them whoops Arthur’s name enthusiastically and stumbles to the sofa to pound him on the back. The others immediately go to the refrigerator to stash their alcohol and raid it for snacks, as if there wasn’t a perfectly serviceable amount of food laid out on the tables.

Merlin sighs and prepares himself for a long night.

Two minutes before Gwen is scheduled to bring in an unsuspecting Lancelot, everyone is crouched low in the dark. Somehow, Merlin ends up behind the sofa crammed in between Arthur and Gawain.

“Aren’t they here yet?” Arthur whispers right in Merlin’s ear.

Merlin flinches, suppressing a shudder, and hisses back, “Be quiet!”

Sure enough, the door knob rattles and Gwen’s keys jangle in the lock. She walks in with Lancelot right behind her, the entire flat pitched in darkness. “I’ll get the lights,” Lancelot says, and reaches for the switch.

“Surprise!” everyone yells obnoxiously as the room is flooded with light.

Lancelot looks absolutely stunned. After he recovers from his initial shock, he laughs and sheepishly greets all of the guests, ever the gentleman, and thanks them for coming. After the pleasantaries are observed, he then twirls Gwen around the flat, laughing loudly. Later, he lopes over to fold Merlin into a warm hug and to give Arthur a friendly punch on the shoulder.

After the confetti is thrown, the cake exclaimed over, and the silly speeches made, the party is in full swing.

Arthur, of course, is in his element. His friends crowd all around him on the sofa, which they _would_ spill their drinks on, telling bad jokes and even worse stories. Arthur laughs along with them and smirks at Merlin just as often. Every time a burst of laughter or a too-loud voice causes Merlin to look in his direction, Arthur is looking right back at him. It’s annoying.

Merlin ignores Arthur completely and continues chatting quietly with Forridel. They met a few weeks ago amongst the dusty shelves of the library, and Merlin has been wanting to repay her kindness ever since she loaned him her out-of-print book on ancient druid locations. She possesses a ferocious appetite for knowledge that rivals his own, and Merlin is very glad that he invited her.

“Merlin!” Arthur’s voice cuts through the loud music and their conversation. “Get us some wine, will you?”

“Get it yourself,” Merlin yells back. “You’re the expert.”

Arthur laughs and the sound grates Merlin’s ears. “You’re the host. It’s only proper that you serve your guests,” he says. “I’ll have the red. Hurry it up, won’t you?”

Merlin smiles tightly at Forridel. “Excuse me,” he says. “It’s best to do what he asks, otherwise he’ll never shut up,” he explains. At her amused nod, he heads toward the kitchen where the wine is. He pours a glass, scowling, and thinks about spilling it all over Arthur’s head.

It doesn’t quite happen like that.

* * *

“Look, I’m sorry, but I told you, you should have got the wine yourself,” Merlin says angrily as he swipes at Arthur’s shirt. He twists around the sink to wring out the cloth, the dark wine swirling down the drain. He rinses it and turns back to resume blotting, but his hands are shaking so badly that only manages to spread the stain further across Arthur’s stomach.

“Stop that,” Arthur says, and pulls Merlin’s hands away. “Judging from your incompetence, it’s obvious that you’ve never handled fine fabric before.”

“As if you’ve ever done a day’s laundry in your life,” Merlin retorts.

Arthur shoots him a dirty look and begins to unbutton his shirt. “I know my father’s business, thank you. For starters, Merlin, it’s very difficult to get stains out of a shirt when someone is _still wearing it_,” he says. “Any idiot would know that.”

Merlin is suddenly a lot less sorry.

Arthur’s fingers glide across the fabric as he deftly undoes the last of the buttons and slips out of the shirt. The sleeveless shirt he’s wearing underneath is also stained with wine. Arthur strips it off quickly with a scowl. There’s even a bit of wine splashed across the front of Arthur’s trousers, but Merlin is going to stop that train of thought right there. Merlin blinks miserably at Arthur’s bare chest (it’s not that nice, not really) before turning his attention back to the shirt. Arthur is holding it up in front of him, backlit against the bathroom light, to assess the damage. Ugly pinkish-red splotches cover the entire front of it. Arthur turns to Merlin and silently raises an eyebrow.

“Er,” Merlin stammers. “Maybe if we soak it, the stain will come out?” he suggests hopefully. He can’t quite look Arthur in the eye, so he settles on focusing on his shoulders instead.

“It’s ruined,” Arthur says matter-of-factly, and Merlin thinks he sounds remarkably calm about losing a shirt that probably cost more than Merlin’s entire wardrobe for a year. “It was very expensive,” Arthur says next, confirming Merlin’s suspicions.

“I’ll—I’ll pay for it,” Merlin says, forcing the words out. He has enough for rent and food this month, but he’ll have to cut out his extra expenses for the next several months to afford it. He’s not sure how much a shirt like that costs, and he hopes fervently that Arthur didn’t simply purchase the most expensive shirt in the entire city. He can’t keep from biting his lip in worry.

Arthur makes a contemplative sound. “Are you sure about that?” he asks, and there’s something strange, something hidden, in his voice.

Merlin can feel Arthur’s eyes on him, travelling up and down—calculating, he assumes. Merlin bristles. “_Yes_,” he says. “Just tell me how much it costs and I’ll have your money to you by the end of the week.”

Arthur laughs quietly and steps closer until they’re face to face. “Admirable,” he says. “Actually, I don’t know how much it costs. I don’t look at the prices when I pay for things,” he continues, and Merlin has to swallow his indignation when Arthur’s fingers reach up to undo the top buttons on Merlin’s shirt. “How much was this?” Arthur asks, and smoothes out the collar, his fingers brushing against Merlin’s throat.

Merlin gulps. “I don’t remember,” he says, and reaches to steady himself against the sink with one hand, his other still clutching the cloth. He’s suddenly dizzy, feeling like he drank a full glass of wine too quickly instead of spilling it all across Arthur’s front when he tripped on the carpet. Merlin blinks himself back to coherency to see Arthur watching him, his gaze dark as he slides his thumb across the hollow of Merlin’s neck. Merlin’s irritation returns. “I’ll pay for it,” he snaps.

Arthur’s grin widens. “Oh, you will,” he agrees, and bites down sharply on Merlin’s collarbone.

* * *

“This isn’t—I didn’t _mean_—” Merlin protests incoherently as he’s shoved flat onto his bed. The still-damp cloth falls from his grasp and onto the floor.

“Shut up,” Arthur says, climbing up on the bed to straddle Merlin’s thighs. He wrests Merlin’s shirt over his head, and Merlin is aghast to hear a button pop off and roll somewhere under his bed. Merlin lifts his arms up when Arthur tugs again impatiently because, really, his mother gave him that shirt, and he would rather not have to explain to her how it go irreparably ruined.

“This is really not what I meant,” Merlin says, because fighting with Arthur is familiar and easy, safer than focusing on how good Arthur feels above him. His hands are everywhere. Merlin feels Arthur shift lower down his body, and he freezes when Arthur hooks his thumb over Merlin’s belt loop.

“You’re not going back on your word, are you?” Arthur challenges. He sits back on Merlin’s legs, letting him feel his weight, and raises an eyebrow at him.

“I’m _not_, but—” Merlin is cut off with a yelp when Arthur unzips Merlin’s jeans and yanks. “Would it kill you to be careful?” Merlin half shouts, shutting his eyes in exasperation.

“Come on, get on with it,” Arthur says impatiently.

Merlin opens his eyes again to see Arthur, eyes heavy with intent, looking back down at him. “Don’t you think we’re taking things a bit fast?” Merlin asks.

“Honestly, Merlin, I think you’re just a bit slow,” Arthur says. He ignores Merlin’s noise of fury. “You don’t have anything, do you?” Arthur asks next, breathless.

“Have anything?“ Merlin echoes, confused.

Arthur grumbles and shifts about to lift Merlin’s legs to get his jeans off fully. “You’re bloody useless, you are,” he says. He reaches into the back pocket of his trousers and grimaces. “You’ve got wine on these too,” he informs Merlin, even as he fishes out a couple of foil packets that he tosses carelessly onto the mattress. “Suppose I’ll have to charge you for that as well.”

“Oh, God,” Merlin breathes. “You’re—you’re serious. We’re—you want to—”

In answer, Arthur starts unbuckling his leather belt. Merlin can hear the quiet clink and jingle of it over the faint sounds of music still coming from the party. He watches, eyes wide, as Arthur raises his hips, lifts his knees, and kicks off his trousers and boxers in one fluid motion before dropping them beside the bed.

Merlin swallows, throat dry. His blood pounds in anticipation as they stare at each other.

“This—this is only if you want it,” Arthur says hoarsely, his breathing ragged. Something wild flickers across his face for a moment, and Merlin can feel the slightest of tremors run over Arthur’s body.

“Yes,” Merlin says, voice raw. He groans and arches upward. “Fuck, yes.” He knows that he and Arthur are both as stubborn and hard-headed as rocks, clashing far too often for anyone’s good. But, like flints, if they strike at each other just the right way, they can spark to create fire.

Arthur lets out a shuddering breath and settles back down on Merlin’s thighs. He growls softly and brings Merlin’s fingers to his lips. He licks Merlin’s fingers all around before placing them completely into his mouth and beginning to suck.

“Shit,” Merlin gasps out, nearly jerking off the bed. Arthur’s mouth is warm and wet, and his eyes never leave Merlin’s as he swirls his tongue around each finger. Merlin gasps at the sensation and meets Arthur’s gaze, entranced. Arthur slides Merlin’s fingers out of his mouth slowly, as if savouring the taste, and takes a few last laps with the flat of his tongue against the pads of his fingers.

Arthur leans forward and across Merlin’s body, reaching for something on the bed. Merlin hears the crinkle and rip of a package being opened, and before he even has time to think about what’s going to happen next, Arthur is coating Merlin’s fingers with lube. Arthur is panting harshly now, his chest heaving and his eyes dilated. “Go on, then,” Arthur commands in a voice like sandpaper.

Merlin stares at his hand, still wet and glistening, and it takes him a few moments to find his voice. “You want me to—?” but he can’t quite finish the thought.

Arthur shoots him an incredulous look and grabs Merlin’s wrist again. “For fuck’s sake,” he says, and shoves Merlin’s hand under his arse.

And oh. _Oh_. Arthur is guiding Merlin’s fingers inside him where it’s hot and tight and fuck, so good. Arthur groans above him, letting his head fall forward, his fringe covering his eyes. “Yes,” Arthur says, and bucks. Somehow, Merlin’s other hand finds its way to Arthur’s hip and presses down, holding him still as Merlin adds another finger. Arthur groans again, softer this time, almost a sigh, rocking back and forth as Merlin slowly explores and experiments, twisting, curling, spreading his fingers inside him. Arthur begins shuddering and jerking erratically, and it’s all Merlin can do to hold him down as he continues stretching him.

“Arthur,” Merlin breathes out softly, and he is almost surprised to hear himself speak.

Arthur’s head snaps forward, his eyes piecing. “Stop,” he says.

Merlin holds his breath as he slides his fingers out. “Are you—?” he asks tentatively.

Arthur glares at him. “Don’t be an idiot,” he says as he snatches up the second packet and tears it open. Arthur rolls the condom on Merlin’s cock—it’s not that Merlin can’t remember when he got hard, but rather he can’t remember when he _wasn’t_ hard—and lifts his hips until he’s almost kneeling on the bed. “Yeah?” Arthur asks, staring at Merlin. Behind his eyes is a question.

Merlin looks up at Arthur and nods. “Yeah,” he breathes out in answer.

“Come on, then,” Arthur says, commanding.

Merlin curls his fingers around himself, swallowing hard as Arthur’s hand comes to cover his own, and together they hold him still as Arthur eases himself down on Merlin’s cock. Arthur’s hiss is loud in the room, cutting through the loud roaring in Merlin’s ears. “Oh, oh _fuck_,” Merlin chokes out.

Arthur keeps moving, keeps sinking down until Merlin’s fully inside him, and then stops. Merlin’s eyelids flutter wildly. He’s taking in great lungfuls of air, but it’s not enough, not close to enough. It’s perfect and delicious and a tiny bit wrong because it’s Arthur, it’s _Arthur_ he’s inside—and then Arthur moans his name and it all melts together into a blazing blur of want.

“Merlin,” Arthur says. Merlin gasps out something, not a word, just a sound, and then Arthur starts to move. He moves up and down Merlin’s cock, slow-slow-quick-quick-slow, almost a kind of dance. Merlin can feel everything—the weight of Arthur when he’s on his thighs, the tension of Arthur’s muscles when he lifts himself back up, the way he clenches around Merlin, and the hitch of his breath when he reaches the top of his cock, almost sliding out before slamming back down.

Then Merlin is pushing up, thrusting into him before he realises he’s doing it, and Arthur is groaning all around him.

“Merlin, Merlin, _Merlin_,” Arthur gasps. He begins rocking back and forth, angling his body to get Merlin in deeper. “Harder,” he says, gripping tightly onto Merlin’s shoulders for leverage. “Damn you, Merlin. _Harder_.”

Merlin snaps his hips forward, again, again, feeling the pressure behind his eyes and in his chest grow and grow, feels the buzzing in his skull, knows that he’s close. Merlin sits up the slightest bit and reaches forward to wrap his hand, slick with sweat and spit now, around Arthur’s cock. He locks his gaze with Arthur’s and begins to stroke.

But Arthur’s having none of it, digging his fingers into Merlin’s shoulders, shoving down and tightening around him. Merlin can feel as well as hear Arthur growl, “Now, Merlin. _Now_.”

Merlin comes, shivering hard, feeling his spine jerk and the pressure melt, everything turning to gold behind his eyes. When the golden light washes away, Merlin takes in a ragged breath, dragging air back into his lungs, and opens his eyes to see Arthur still moving urgently along his cock.

“Arthur,” Merlin says, his voice desperate, stroking Arthur’s cock where it’s still hard against his belly. “Arthur, please, please, Arthur—”

And that’s all it takes before Arthur’s coming in his hand, head thrown back, a broken, desperate sound tearing from his throat. He bucks once more, sharply, and seizes around Merlin until he can feel the waves of Arthur’s orgasm around and on him. Arthur gasps once more and slumps forward, his chin almost touching his chest, moaning softly as Merlin continues to move inside him, once, twice more until Arthur’s still. He stays like that, motionless for a few moments more. Then he opens his eyes slowly to meet Merlin’s, and starts to lift himself off with excruciating slowness.

This is it, Merlin thinks, even as his hands ache to pull Arthur back down onto him again. This is the part where Arthur gets up, puts on his clothes and never looks back, Merlin knows. But instead, Arthur shoves Merlin over on the mattress and sinks down blissfully beside him.

“What are you doing?” Merlin says, bewildered.

“Shove over,” Arthur says. “You’re all knees and elbows.”

Merlin stares at Arthur, his hair damp with sweat and clinging to his forehead. “You’re staying?” Merlin demands. He peels aways the condom, ties it off, and then chucks it across the room to the bin. He misses.

Arthur lifts his head from the mattress and eyes him balefully. “What, do you expect me to go home? I can’t bloody _move_,” he grumbles, and pushes at Merlin’s shoulder. “Clean us up, at least,” he says.

Merlin realises that they’re a mess. He grabs the cloth crumpled by the side of the bed, still damp but fortunately wine-free. He uses it to wipe at Arthur’s chest, and then moves it gently over their stomachs. Arthur sighs quietly as he does it.

“That’s better,” Arthur mumbles sleepily. “At least you’re good for something.” Merlin barely has time to open his mouth in protest before Arthur adds, “You’re absolutely terrible at sex. Really, I mean it. The worst shag I’ve ever had.”

Merlin is startled into a bark of laughter. “Excuse me?” he says. “You’re the one who just said he couldn’t move,” he reminds him.

“Exactly,” Arthur says. “I had to do all the bloody work. You just lay there and didn’t even know what the fuck to do.”

Merlin gives him a withering look, but can’t think of anything to say. “You’re welcome,” he settles on eventually.

Arthur throws an arm across Merlin’s chest and shifts closer. “I think that covers the shirt,” he mumbles as his eyes slide closed. “You still owe me for the trousers.”  


  


* * *

Merlin groggily fights his way to wakefulness the next morning. He yawns widely, stretching his arms out, and manages to knock his elbow against Arthur’s head. Arthur stirs and groans.

“Do you mind?” Arthur says irritably. He lifts his head from where it’s buried at the place where Merlin’s neck and shoulder meet. He glares blearily at Merlin. “Some of us are trying to sleep.”

Merlin snorts and tries to shove Arthur off him. “Get off, you insufferable prig,” he says.

Arthur proceeds to roll over in completely the wrong direction and now he’s on top of Merlin, chest to chest, his body warm and pliant from sleep. “Make me,” Arthur says, smiling lazily, and Merlin’s blood begins to hum.

Before Merlin can properly start teaching Arthur a lesson, there’s a timid knock on his door. He and Arthur both freeze momentarily.

“Merlin,” Gwen says, her voice filtering through the door a moment later. “Are you all right? I know you went into hiding, but I thought I should check on you. You didn’t steal a bottle of wine and pass out in there, did you?”

“I’m fine,” Merlin calls, his voice scratchy and perhaps a little breathless. He manages to slide out from underneath Arthur in his panic and sit up in bed.

“Good,” Gwen continues. “Would you like some eggs and toast for breakfast? Lancelot’s making some.”

“Er, sure,” Merlin says. “Eggs sound great.” He hopes he doesn’t sound as desperate to get rid of her as he feels.

“Lovely,” Gwen calls. Merlin hears her footsteps recede down the hallway, and he breathes a sigh of relief.

Arthur starts shaking with silent laughter below him. “Smooth,” he mocks, and drags his tongue over Merlin’s stomach and up to his chest. Merlin tries to bite out a smart remark but doesn’t quite manage it.

Suddenly the door to Merlin’s room flies open and Gwen bustles in. “Oh, Merlin, I forgot to ask, did you see Arthur leave the party? Because his mates didn’t know where he—” Gwen cuts herself off.

There’s a moment of perfect silence.

“Um,” Merlin says.

Arthur leisurely snakes a hand around Merlin’s waist and turns to look at Gwen over his shoulder. “Good morning, Guinevere,” he says. “Did you say that there were eggs for breakfast?”

Gwen stares at them for a moment and blinks rapidly. “I—yes. I’ll go and ask Lancelot to make some more?” she says, her voice going up an octave, and then she turns and flees the room.

Merlin turns his head very slowly to look at Arthur. “You _complete_ ass!” he shouts.

Arthur sighs. “I should have known that you would be intolerable in the mornings. Shall I ask Lancelot to put on a pot of coffee as well?”

Merlin, furious, reaches behind him and grabs a pillow to smother Arthur with.

Arthur rolls his eyes. He heaves himself upward from the bed. “All right, fine,” he says. “I’m going to have a shower.” He flings the covers away and staggers toward Merlin’s dresser. Merlin can only gape as Arthur starts rummaging through his clothing, naked, and pulls out a worn grey t-shirt—one of Merlin’s favourites. He scowls.

Arthur turns toward him and raises an eyebrow. “Was there something you wanted?” he asks.

Merlin grits his teeth. He knows if he complains, Arthur will only grin and make sure to take the shirt next time. “Nothing,” Merlin snaps.

Arthur grins and waltzes out of the room. Merlin closes his eyes and breathes a sigh of relief that lasts for all of ten seconds before he remembers that Arthur walked out of the room _naked_. He hears a muffled shriek from Gwen and something thudding heavily to the ground in the kitchen.

“Good morning, Lancelot!” he hears Arthur call cheerily. The bathroom door closes and the shower starts running.

Oh, shit.

* * *

Breakfast is awkward. Merlin is poking at his toast and pushing his eggs around on his plate. Lancelot is staring politely and fixedly at the teapot. Gwen is flicking embarrassed glances all around the table.

Arthur, however, seems oblivious to the tension. He lounges at the table wearing nothing but his boxers and Merlin’s t-shirt. Bastard. He eats with a hearty appetite, but his table manners are nothing if not impeccable. It makes Merlin hate him a little more until he notices that Arthur is shifting minutely in his seat. It doesn’t dawn on him until Arthur makes the slightest of grimaces that he’s probably _sore_, and then Merlin can’t think at all.

“So,” Gwen says hesitantly, “Did you two have fun last night?”

Merlin fumbles with his mug and he takes a large sip of tea to avoid answering her.

“Um,” Gwen says hurriedly, “Not that it’s any of my business, of course. Just making sure that you two were all right.”

“More than all right” is Arthur’s contribution.

Merlin chokes on his tea.

Lancelot, trained in First Aid, jumps up and begins telling Merlin to breathe in slowly, in and out. He rubs Merlin’s back soothingly. Eyes watering, Merlin barely makes out Arthur’s glare, but he’s rather more concerned with air than Arthur at the moment. When he gets his breathing under control, Merlin wheezes out a “Thank you” to Lancelot, who grins and gives a last pat to Merlin’s back before returning to his seat.

Arthur stands up abruptly and begins clearing the table of dishes. Merlin stares at him, uncomprehending. “What are you doing?” he gasps, still slightly out of breath.

Arthur smiles at him tightly. “Helping out,” he says shortly. He clanks the dishes noisily. Merlin winces.

“Why don’t I help you with that?” Gwen says quickly. Merlin know she’s worried about her grandmother’s teapot that her mother passed on to her before she died.

“Thanks, Gwen, I owe you one,” Merlin says, and he grabs Arthur’s—Merlin’s, really—t-shirt and hauls him back to his room.

“What is the matter with you?” Merlin hisses as soon as he closes the door.

“Nothing,” Arthur says, guarded. “I’ll see you later, all right?” He casually steps into his trousers from last night (Merlin can’t help glancing down at them, thoroughly distracted) and opens the door to Merlin’s bedroom.

“What?” Merlin asks, and then Arthur’s last words catch up to him. “Not likely,” he mutters.

At that, Arthur turns around, pushes Merlin hard against the wall, and kisses him fiercely.

Merlin blinks when Arthur lets him go. “What about my shirt?” is all he can think of saying.

Arthur rolls his eyes. “I’ll see that you get it back,” he says, and is gone.

* * *

“That is _not_ what I meant,” Merlin snaps at Arthur two days later when he shows up at Merlin’s flat wearing a red jacket zipped up over Merlin’s grey t-shirt. Merlin doesn’t even bother asking if Arthur brought a change of clothes.

Arthur, lounging casually across the doorway, smiles at him. “It’s very comfy,” he says, smoothing the fabric of Merlin’s t-shirt across his palm. “If you don’t want it, I’ll gladly take it off your hands.”

Merlin sighs, defeated, and opens the door wider. Arthur strolls in and deposits himself on the sofa. “Have you anything to eat?” he asks.

There’s only so much arrogance that Merlin can take. He marches toward the sofa where Arthur is looking up at him expectantly, snatches up one of the lumpy cushions, and whomps Arthur solidly with it.

Snorting, Arthur stretches across the sofa to scramble for the other pillow, and the fight is on. “Is this your idea of pillow talk?” he asks in between bouts. “I didn’t think you were the type.”

Merlin glares and hits him about the chest and arms several more times with his cushion to pay for the terrible joke. Arthur laughs, shaking almost too hard to defend himself.

“Do you want to give up?” Merlin asks.

“To you?” Arthur asks incredulously. He drops his cushion and tackles Merlin, wrapping his arms around Merlin’s waist and pressing his face to his chest. He lets his weight pin Merlin firmly down onto the sofa.

“Oof,” Merlin says, the breath being squashed out of his lungs by a very smug Arthur. “You’re horrible.”

Arthur grins down at him, his hair mussed and face flushed from exertion. “No, I win,” he says, eyes darkening. “Do I get a prize?”

Merlin gulps. Arthur doesn’t move, just continues hovering over him, and Merlin can feel the weight of him all along his body. Merlin stares at Arthur’s mouth and strains up a little until they’re only a breath apart, but Arthur stays still. It isn’t until Merlin glances back up that he sees hesitation flicker over Arthur’s face. “Oh, bloody hell,” Merlin mutters, and rises up the rest of the distance to close the distance between their mouths himself.

Their kiss has nothing of the desperation or urgency from the night before. Their mouths slide together slowly, exploring and unhurried. Merlin feels Arthur relax into the kiss. He nuzzles Arthur’s mouth with his own before tracing his tongue gently across Arthur’s bottom lip. Arthur breathes in and slides his tongue into Merlin’s mouth, almost caressing Merlin’s tongue with his own. Merlin slides his hand into Arthur’s hair and tugs him down to deepen the kiss. Arthur hums a little, the noise vibrating through Merlin’s skin, and closes his eyes.

After several minutes, Arthur pulls back but not away, and Merlin blinks hazily at the soft expression on Arthur’s face. Merlin smiles in answer and then pulls Arthur back down. Arthur obliges, kissing softly at Merlin’s jaw, neck, and moves down to brush his lips across Merlin’s chest. He slides across the sofa and rubs his cheek on Merlin’s stomach, making him squirm, before simply resting his head there.

Merlin leans back and looks at the ceiling as he strokes Arthur’s hair. He’s still not quite sure what this is between them. He spent the past couple of days determinedly ignoring any attempts to make head or tails of Arthur’s behaviour because, clearly, that way led only to madness. Merlin’s had boys and he’s had girls, but he’s never had anyone quite like Arthur.

Merlin slants a look down at Arthur, whose cheek is still pillowed on his stomach, and nudges him with his knee. “Hey,” Merlin says softly.

Arthur tilts his head in Merlin’s direction. “Hey,” he says drowsily.

Steeling himself, Merlin tries to keep his voice casual. “The other night,” he begins, and he feels Arthur stiffen. “The other night,” Merlin forges ahead of the lump in his throat, “You didn’t mean it, did you?”

Arthur looks at Merlin for a moment and his gaze is once more guarded. “I—not the shirt part, I didn’t. But the other—the other part, yeah, I did,” he says.

“All right,” Merlin says haltingly, “I have no idea what that means.”

Arthur huffs and doesn’t elaborate. Merlin knows that he won’t get any kind of straight answer, and doesn’t try to press him. Instead, they stay tangled together on the sofa, sharing each other’s warmth.

Gwen finds them like that half an hour later when she comes home from her yoga class. She glances at them tangled on the sofa and immediately throws her hands over her eyes and turns around. “Please tell me that you’re clothed. Both of you,” she says.

Merlin laughs. “Yes, Gwen, we are,” he says.

Gwen breathes a sigh of relief. “Thank goodness. Lancelot was quite put out, you know. And Merlin, you should know that it’s common courtesy to let your flatmate know if you’re having someone over. _Especially_ in the common areas,” she admonishes him.

“I didn’t know he was going to show up,” Merlin grumbles, and looks down resentfully at Arthur. “Besides, it’s not as if I’ve never walked in on you and Lancelot.”

“Merlin!” Gwen says in mortified tones.

Yawning, Arthur sits up and rubs at his eyes. “Very sorry to inconvenience you, Guinevere. Shall I make it up by taking you to dinner? I’ll ring Lancelot and he can meet us somewhere,” he says.

Merlin looks at Gwen, who is beaming, and then turns to stare at Arthur. “What about me?” he demands.

Arthur turns to look at him. “Oh, you can come along,” he says dismissively, and rolls his eyes. “But don’t you dare call this a double date.”  


* * *

Gwen chooses a little Italian trattoria within walking distance for dinner. Arthur compliments her on her choice, and Lancelot arrives a very few minutes after they’ve been seated.

Arthur hums over the wine list and shoots Merlin a significant look before telling the waiter, “No, thank you, I have an early morning tomorrow.” Gwen and Lancelot also decline wine, and Merlin just shakes his head silently, knowing that the tips of his ears are burning.

It only gets worse when, before their drinks even arrive, Lancelot looks at Arthur and Merlin questioningly. “So, are you two finally...you know?” he asks, making a vague hand gesture.

“What do you mean, ‘you know’?” Merlin asks, then pauses. “Wait, what you do you mean ‘finally’?” Merlin glances suspiciously at Gwen, who looks as puzzled as he is. Lancelot clears his throat nervously and Merlin turns back to him. “What do you mean, ‘finally’?” he repeats.

“Leave him alone, Merlin,” Arthur says absently, not looking up from his menu. “I think we’re ready to order,” he continues. Merlin locks his jaw, annoyed, as Arthur signals the waiter, who attends to them immediately. Arthur proceeds to order enough food to feed a dozen people. Merlin’s simmering resentment is somewhat mollified by the time the excellent pasta in walnut cream sauce (Arthur’s recommendation, of course) arrives. Merlin ends up eating a rather alarming amount.

Arthur’s mobile rings in the middle of the meal. He looks down at the caller ID, and Merlin sees his face stiffen slightly. “Excuse me,” Arthur says politely, “but I have to take this.” He wipes his mouth with his napkin and steps outside to take the call.

“Lancelot,” Merlin hisses as soon as Arthur is gone. “What did you mean?”

Gwen glances at Merlin, then at Lancelot, then back to Merlin. “You mean about Arthur?” she asks uncertainly.

Lancelot holds up his hands in front of him defensively. “I don’t know anything,” he says calmly.

“You’re a terrible liar,” Merlin informs him, crossing his arms.

“That I am,” Lancelot agrees, smiling. He pauses to collect his thoughts while fiddling with his glass of water. “That first day I introduced you,” he finally says, “I felt terrible because I thought you two would be enemies for life. You two are always setting each other off.”

“He’s the one who started it,” Merlin grumbles.

Lancelot ignores him and continues speaking. “I’ve known Arthur for most of my life and I’ve never seen him become as aggravated over anyone but you. You push him, and...and I think he likes that,” Lancelot says.

Merlin stares at him wordlessly.

“Arthur has a good heart underneath it all,” Gwen says after a moment. “He volunteered to help with the party when he heard that you’d be all alone.”

Merlin is startled into speech. “What? You were the one who asked him, weren’t you?” he says.

“No?” Gwen says, looking confused. “He offered first.”

Lancelot laughs. “Of course he would. But you wouldn’t be able to tell that he cares about you from the way he complains about you all the time, Merlin,” he says.

“Actually,” Gwen interjects, “Merlin does the same. He won’t stop talking about Arthur.”

“I do not!” Merlin objects hotly.

Gwen and Lancelot both level identical stares at him. Merlin ignores them, cheeks flaming. He stabs a fork into his pasta furiously until Arthur returns from his phone call looking both irritated and embarrassed.

“Everything all right?” Gwen asks cheerfully. Merlin is very glad for the change in subject.

“It was Morgana,” Arthur says flatly.

Gwen lights up. “How is she enjoying her holiday?” she asks.

Arthur snorts. “Holiday? I don’t see how Morgana being whisked across the continent by that bloody Morgause after years of no contact counts as a holiday. Or sisterly bonding,” he says rather bitterly.

Merlin doesn’t want to ask.

Arthur is viciously tearing up the garlic bread into tiny pieces, but before things become too awkward, his mobile rings again. Arthur practically glares at the display and barks out a “What now, Morgana?” into the mouthpiece. He pauses and blinks. “I will _not_,” he hisses after a moment. He flicks a glance in Merlin’s direction, and his scowl and blush deepen as he listens to whatever Morgana is saying on the other line. “You wouldn’t dare,” Arthur says next, gripping the mobile tightly and looking horrified.

Merlin thinks he might like Morgana quite a lot.

“Fine,” Arthur snaps. “I hate you,” he adds, and then thrusts his mobile in front of Merlin’s face. “She wants to talk to you,” Arthur says, colour high on his cheeks.

“Me?” Merlin asks, surprised. “How does she even know—?”

“Would you just take the bloody thing?” Arthur shouts. Some of the other patrons in the restaurant look up at the outburst, and Merlin hurriedly takes the mobile.

“Hello?” Merlin asks tentatively. He’s not sure at all what to expect.

“Yes, hello, Merlin. This is Morgana,” the voice on the other line says, sounding very pleased.

“Hello. You’re Arthur’s sister, right? I don’t think we’ve ever officially met,” Merlin says. He hopes he doesn’t sound too daft.

“Foster sister,” Morgana says. “We grew up together, but nevermind that. I’m glad we finally have a chance to chat a bit. It feels like I already know you.”

“Oh?” Merlin says, delighted. He can’t deny that he feels a certain kind of kinship with her.

The smile in Morgana’s voice is obvious. “Yes, Arthur’s told me all about you,” she says.

“He has?“ Merlin asks, dismayed.

Morgana laughs. “Yes, and all very bad things, which means you are a very good person for Arthur. Someone needs to keep him in line while I’m gone, and you’ve been doing an excellent job,” she says.

For a frightful moment, Merlin wonders just how much she knows. He shoots a questioning look at Arthur, who is trying to eavesdrop, but doing his best to pretend otherwise. He folds his arms and glares at Merlin crossly.

“I wanted to thank you. Arthur needs it, that’s for sure,” Morgana continues.

“You’re welcome?” Merlin says to Morgana, unsure.

“Excellent. I know you can handle him,” Morgana says reassuringly. “I must run, but give Gwen my love, all right? And Arthur as well, but of course he won’t believe you. I look forward to meeting you in person when I get back.”

“Me, too,” Merlin says, but in truth he wonders what just happened.

“Can’t wait to meet you. Good-bye!” Morgana says merrily.

“Good-bye,” Merlin echoes. The line clicks, and Merlin wonders if this was the Pendragon way to go about doing things. He hands the mobile back to Arthur, who snatches it back and firmly turns it off.

“She sends her love to both of you,” Merlin tells Gwen and Arthur.

Gwen smiles at him. Arthur mutters something incoherent.

There are no more mysterious phone calls throughout the rest of dinner. Merlin can’t help but feel a strange burst of warmth in his chest whenever he thinks back on either Lancelot’s or Morgana’s words. He grins cheekily at Arthur, who only looks more embarrassed every time he does it.

At the end of dinner, Arthur signals the waiter discreetly. Lancelot reaches for his wallet, but Arthur only shakes his head at him slightly. Lancelot puts it away without a word. Belatedly, Merlin realises he should at least pay for his share, and fumbles for his wallet.

“Don’t bother. They don’t take payment in pennies,” Arthur says, his smugness returning. He drops his hand to the back of Merlin’s neck, warm fingers teasing at his collar.

Merlin is about to say, “I owe you for—” but his throat closes up in embarrassment before he can finish his sentence.

Arthur pays, grinning all the while.

They stroll home leisurely after dinner. By then, Merlin is full enough of good food and humour to smile dopily at Arthur during the walk home. Arthur informs him he looks like a grinning idiot, and Merlin promptly tells Arthur that he looks the same.

Gwen and Lancelot walk ahead, holding hands. As soon as they are out of earshot, Arthur turns to Merlin. “What did Morgana say?” Arthur whispers.

Merlin glances at him sidelong. “It’s a secret, and I’m not about to tell the likes of you,” he says, knowing that he’s being infuriating.

Predictably, Arthur grabs him by the collar of his shirt. “I hate you,” he tells Merlin, voice rough.

“The feeling is mutual,” Merlin says, meeting Arthur’s hot gaze unflinchingly. He reaches to close his hand gently across Arthur’s wrist.

Arthur looks back at him, eyes wide. He blinks and colours, but doesn’t pull away.

Lancelot’s voice comes wafting down the street. “May I remind you that we’re still in public?” he calls.

Merlin looks up to see that they have already reached their building. He realises what they must look like with their hands all over each other. Merlin grins and doesn’t move a step.

Lancelot sighs. “Thank you for dinner, Arthur,” he says loudly, and offers his arm to Gwen.

“Yes, thank you very much, Arthur,” Gwen says, taking Lancelot’s arm. They say their goodnights and disappear into the building quietly.

Merlin is left alone with Arthur in the night. The lamppost near their building casts a yellow light across Arthur’s face, throwing it in shadow. “Good night, Merlin,” Arthur says, and releases his shirt to squeeze Merlin’s fingers for a brief moment before letting go.

Merlin doesn’t let him. He grabs onto Arthur’s hand. “Do you want to come up?” he hears himself asking.

Arthur is silent for a moment. Merlin watches as his throat works. “I have an early morning,” Arthur says. His voice is very quiet.

“I know,” Merlin says, just as quietly.

“I won’t be able to stay,” Arthur says, hesitation creeping into his words.

Merlin grins. “Wouldn’t want you to, anyway. You’ve no notion on how to share a bed, do you?” he asks.

Arthur’s mouth twitches in amusement. “I think you need a lesson on how to treat a guest,” he answers.

“Arrogant bastards don’t count as guests,” Merlin says.

“Is that so?” Arthur says dangerously. He steps forward into Merlin’s space, eyes glittering. Merlin doesn’t step back.

Their mouths meet in a messy clash of tongues and teeth. Arthur cradles his hand to the back of Merlin’s head while Merlin’s hands clasp firmly onto Arthur’s neck. Arthur’s mouth is warm and wet, and Merlin feels his skin tingle. He doesn’t care that anyone could see them. Right now, all he cares about is more of the taste of Arthur on his tongue.

Arthur says something, mumbles it against his lips, and tries to pull back. Merlin doesn’t want to hear it and chases Arthur’s mouth until they’re kissing again. Arthur moans softly, and Merlin’s stomach jumps at the sound. Arthur finally manages to wrench himself away with a gasp and grasps at Merlin’s shoulder to hold him at arm’s length. Merlin moves toward him, but Arthur’s arms could be made of steel. Damn him.

Arthur’s eyes are dilated, his pupils blown wide. “Merlin,” he says. “Merlin, wait.”

At that, Merlin stills. His head clears and he looks at Arthur. “What is it?” he asks.

Arthur takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly. He keeps his hands on Merlin’s shoulders and looks him in the eye. “Earlier, you were asking me if I meant it,” he says, and Merlin nods. “Did you? Did you mean it?” Arthur asks.

Merlin’s brow furrows. “Which part?” he asks carefully.

“The other part,” Arthur says, sounding frustrated. “When we—the _us_ part. Did you mean that?”

“Yeah,” Merlin says softly and meets Arthur’s gaze squarely. “Yeah. I meant it then, and I mean it now.”

Arthur’s face clears and he smiles at Merlin. His grip tightens on Merlin’s shoulders, and he has the most ridiculous of expressions on his face.

Merlin smiles back, unable to do anything else, and places his hand along Arthur’s chest. “I do need this back. It’s my very favourite shirt to sleep in, and I would like it returned,” he says, fingering the fabric of his t-shirt. “So, do you want to come up?” Merlin asks, watching as Arthur’s breath hitches.

Later, when Arthur’s hands are braced on the sides of his bookshelf and Merlin has one hand over Arthur’s mouth to muffle the sounds he’s making as Merlin fucks him desperately, he realises that it might not have been the best of ideas, especially when Arthur bites down hard on Merlin’s fist and comes all over the books.

Merlin doesn’t have the energy to be too bothered by that, though. He collapses on his bed, exhausted, and wonders if this is going to become a habit whenever Arthur is around. He’s not going to argue if it is.

Merlin becomes vaguely aware of Arthur sarcastically muttering something like, “Don’t worry about looking after your guest, Merlin. You just make yourself comfortable,” at him while he pads about the room, but Merlin is too much of a sleepy mess to care. He is poked awake some time later and mumbles a good-bye in response to Arthur’s apparently irritated farewell. Merlin simply closes his eyes and burrows back to sleep.

When Merlin wakes the next morning, he’s alone. He yawns, smelling Arthur on the bed sheets. Right on cue, his mobile on the night stand next to his bed beeps. Merlin sleepily pats along the night stand until his fingers close on his mobile and he checks his messages. _Arthur_ flashes across the screen, and Merlin knows that he never programmed Arthur’s number into it. He grins and opens the message. _Hi_ is all it says. Merlin laughs a little, looks up to see not his grey t-shirt, but Arthur’s red jacket hanging off his desk chair instead, and texts back _Hi :)_.

Merlin blames the smiley face solely on the fact that he’s just woken up.

* * *

A week later, they’re at a pub celebrating Lancelot’s non-surprise birthday party with a much rowdier crowd. Arthur buys the first round, and Merlin doesn’t mind the noise and jostle of the crowd so much after his first drink of the night.

“You are a complete lightweight,” Arthur tells him, making a face.

“You look very funny when you’re annoyed,” Merlin says gravely. He grips tightly onto the table to keep it from wobbling. “But you probably knew that,” he adds, swiping Arthur’s drink from underneath his nose to down it in one swig.

Arthur glares speechlessly at him (Merlin must remember to do it again next time) and throws up his hands in disgust. He leaves to buy the next round and doesn’t come back. Merlin doesn’t care in the least because a lot of Lancelot’s friends are still around. They’re good blokes, much nicer than Arthur ever will be. But they’ve all decided to wear orange and blue in honour of Lancelot (what exactly they are honouring, Merlin has no idea), and as the night wears on, the bright colours start to hurt his eyes. Merlin begins to feel more than light-headed. His scratchy throat and sniffles from that morning can’t be soothed by alcohol after all, and now he has a pounding headache to go with them.

“Ugh,” Merlin says to the nearest fuzzy orange-and-blue blob that somewhat resembles a person.

“Are you all right, mate?” Gawain says. At least, Merlin thinks it’s Gawain. When Merlin doesn’t form a coherent answer, Gawain says, “I’ll get Arthur, yeah?”

Merlin wants to ask why anyone would think that he needs _Arthur_ of all people, but his tongue can’t form the words. He groans and presses his cheek to the table. He barely even moves when some time later, cool hands cup his face and smooth away his fringe to feel his forehead.

“Wonderful. You’re burning up. You didn’t bother to tell anyone that you were sick?” Arthur says, his voice clipped. His words rattles around Merlin’s head.

“I’m not sick,” Merlin says. “Just tired.” He squints up at Arthur, who is blessedly wearing red and gold. Merlin finds it a much more pleasing colour combination.

“Of course not. You’re too slow to catch a cold, aren’t you?” Arthur snaps. “I’m taking you home.”

Merlin is unceremoniously hauled upright and his arm slung around Arthur’s shoulders. “I think it was poisoned,” he whispers loudly to Arthur, indicating his drink.

Arthur sighs. Merlin thinks he sounds much too exasperated for someone whose life he just saved. “Pity it didn’t finish the job,” Arthur says. He turns to Gawain. “Tell Lancelot and Gwen that I’m taking Merlin home, all right?”

“Yes, sire,” Gawain says, grinning at them. “And it’s about bloody time, you two,” he adds.

Merlin feels Arthur stiffen beside him.

“About time for what?” Merlin asks thickly.

Gawain laughs as Arthur glares furiously at him. “It’s the worst kept secret amongst the Knights that Arthur has always been utterly besotted with you,” Gawain says to Merlin. He nimbly dances out of reach when Arthur takes a lunge toward him, stumbling with Merlin’s added weight.

“Would you shut up?” Arthur says angrily instead, trying to recover his dignity. He hefts Merlin closer.

“Don’t worry. You won’t remember this in the morning, will you Merlin?” Gawain says cheerfully.

“I dunno,” Merlin says, blinking owlishly. “What were we talking about?”

“Good man,” Gawain says, clapping Merlin on the shoulder. “Now go on and take him home,” he says to Arthur.

They leave the pub and somehow they make it to the flat in one piece. Merlin is too woozy to make out what Arthur is muttering under his breath the entire way home, but he thinks he hears something about challenging Gawain to a duel.

As Arthur lugs him up the stairs and guides him to bed, Merlin thinks hazily that, on the very rare occasion, it’s rather nice to have Arthur around. He falls asleep to the sound of Arthur’s voice sternly telling him to get some rest.

Arthur is still by his bedside the next morning, dozing uncomfortably in Merlin’s chair. Miraculously, even through the alcohol and heavy cold medication, Merlin remembers everything from the night before. He doesn’t see fit to mention it any time soon, however. Instead, he stays awake a little longer to watch Arthur sleep.

* * *

When Merlin is fully recovered, Arthur invites him over for dinner at the Pendragon mansion. It’s a welcome change from Merlin’s tiny room, made all the smaller because he’d been laid up in bed for the past two days with his cold. Arthur grudgingly visited him every day of his convalescence and even brought some sort of rare flower for Merlin to drink as an herbal tea. It tasted rather vile, but he did recover speedily in the end.

The Pendragon mansion is a sight to behold, almost a hotel in itself. Merlin would be more awed if he didn’t hold Arthur in contempt, but he does enjoy cooking (Arthur’s idea, not his) with more than one pot and pan.

“I still can’t believe you never use half the things here,” Merlin says after dinner, loading the dishwasher in Arthur’s well stocked, industrial-sized kitchen with dirty dishes. “My mother would love it.”

“Invite her over sometime, then,” Arthur says. “At least we’d have a _decent_ home cooked meal if she came over,” he snipes.

“I had no idea the stew would be that stringy, honest,” Merlin grumbles, throwing Arthur a curious, sideways glance. He knows, frighteningly, that his mother would _love_ Arthur.

“That did _not_ taste like pork in the least,” Arthur says.

“At least I can cook better than you,” Merlin quips.

“That’s not saying much, but I am willing to concede the point,” Arthur says. “By the way, as much as I enjoy the sight of you doing menial tasks like washing up, you should really invest in a dishwasher at your flat. Much more efficient.” He steps behind Merlin and places his hands lightly on Merlin’s waist.

“Some of us like to do it the old-fashioned way,” Merlin says. He doesn’t mention that he and Gwen likely can’t afford such a luxury, but he becomes rather distracted when Arthur begins placing light kisses along the back of his neck. Arthur presses his nose to the nape of Merlin’s neck and breathes in, making Merlin shudder in response.

Merlin laughs quietly and then pauses, eyeing the dishwasher dubiously. “I have no idea how to start this,” he admits.

Arthur doesn’t let go of Merlin’s waist. “Leave it,” he says, and tightens his arms.

Merlin smiles and begins to turn around to face him. “No, don’t,” Arthur says, muffled, and steps closer.

“Oh,” says Merlin. He can feel Arthur’s erection tight against his arse. He shouldn’t be surprised, really. His whole body shivers as he takes a breath, and Merlin feels warmth rush all along his body as his cock hardens in response.

Arthur begins fingering the button on top of Merlin’s jeans. “Can I?” Arthur asks, voice low.

“Yeah,” Merlin says. He closes his eyes, bracing his hands on the kitchen countertop.

Arthur unbuttons Merlin’s jeans and unzips them. He tugs them down just enough to slide both hands into his boxers. Merlin can’t quite stifle his gasps when Arthur begins to stroke him in quick, efficient movements. It’s good, it’s even better that he’s stroking him within the confines of his boxers, the fabric already wet and catching against the head of Merlin’s cock.

“Want you,” Arthur says breathlessly from behind Merlin. He can feel Arthur panting damply against his ear, and Merlin feels the same the warm sensation curl around his cock at Arthur’s words. Merlin jerks forward, startled, when Arthur begins to grunt softly as he pushes his hips up and grinds himself, still clothed, against Merlin’s arse.

Merlin bows his head and moans. “What if someone walks in on us?” he asks shakily. Arthur is warm at his back and his arms firm against his sides, but Merlin can’t help the mixture of fear and arousal of being caught that sends shivers down his spine.

“Let them,” Arthur says, voice rough. Merlin bites his lip in surprise when Arthur tugs his boxers down further and begins palming his balls. “Let them watch as I have you right here in the kitchen,” Arthur continues.

“_Arthur_,” Merlin gasps out. Arthur runs his tongue against the back of Merlin’s neck and tightens his grip on Merlin’s cock. Merlin groans, thrusting into the warmth of his hands, now slick with sweat and Merlin’s precome. He can feel Arthur still hot and hard behind him. Merlin’s shoulders twitch involuntarily. He knows that if they still weren’t mostly clothed, Arthur could be inside him right now, and the thought almost sends him over the edge. “Arthur, Arthur, come _on_,” Merlin says desperately.

Arthur laughs. The bastard _laughs_, but then he flexes his hand just right as he bites down on Merlin’s neck, and Merlin comes in a blinding rush. When he comes back to himself, he turns around to see Arthur staring wildly at him, almost completely undone. Merlin kisses him, hard, and his hands fly down to undo Arthur’s trousers.

“Finally, that’s better,” Arthur grunts. He flings himself against Merlin, pressing him against the counter. He makes a desperate noise and rubs himself against Merlin’s hipbone, leaving a trail of sticky wetness and burning heat.

“Let me,” Merlin says, and tries to manoeuvre out of Arthur’s grip to cup his hands around Arthur’s cock.

“Later,” Arthur says, panting. His arms wrap around Merlin’s shoulders and he shifts lower to rub against Merlin’s thigh. “Can’t wait. Just need—” he gasps. He pushes his forehead against Merlin’s chest and thrusts against him, cock heavy and hot against Merlin’s thigh, like he can’t stand the thought of having any space at all between their bodies. He comes with a low moan and stays there, just shy of shaking, pressed close against Merlin’s body.

Merlin’s hand buries itself into Arthur’s hair and the other slides down to rest against Arthur’s shoulder blades. He brushes Arthur’s sweaty hair away from his forehead and he rests his cheek against Arthur’s head, smiling softly to himself.

After a few moments of quiet, Arthur heaves a sigh and lifts his head away. He smiles at Merlin, soft and fond. Merlin tucks the look safely away in his memories. Then Arthur blinks, and the moment is gone.

“You _do_ know how to operate a washing machine, right?” Arthur says, fingering the stains on their clothing.

* * *

Arthur’s bed is enormous. It even has curtains. “Do you actually sleep here?” Merlin asks wonderingly.

“That and other things,” Arthur says, lifting his eyebrows at Merlin.

Merlin shakes his head slightly. “I shouldn’t have asked. You’re insatiable,” he mutters.

“As if you’re any better,” Arthur says. He flops down on the bed, arms behind his head, grinning and looking like he has the world at his command.

Merlin sits down on the bed next to Arthur and swings up his feet. In an odd reversal, he’s wearing a borrowed t-shirt and pyjama bottoms. Arthur looks absurdly smug about it.

“Are we finally even?” Merlin asks, plucking at the t-shirt with, of all things, a dragon embroidered on it. “For the shirt and—the other part?”

Arthur throws back his head and laughs. “Yes,” he says. “But I’ll have you know that I got the better end of the bargain,” he says fondly, ruffling Merlin’s hair.

Merlin stretches out next to Arthur on the bed until they’re lying next to each other face to face. “I never thought that this would be us,” he says contemplatively.

“Believe me, neither did I,” Arthur says dryly, giving him a lopsided grin.

“You didn’t make it easy,” Merlin remarks, rolling his eyes.

At that, Arthur takes Merlin’s hand in his and presses them together, palm to palm, and laces their fingers together. “No, of course not. Nothing about this is easy,” Arthur says, his tone serious. He looks Merlin in the eye and there’s something both terrifying and bright in his gaze. “Nothing about _you_ is easy. Because you’re stubborn and a complete idiot, it’s taken you this long to realise that I’ve wanted you,” he says.

Merlin holds his look and matches it. “All this time we’ve—” he starts to say, then stops himself. He can’t say it, won’t say it. Instead, he places a hand on Arthur’s chest to feel his heartbeat. “Arthur,” Merlin says quietly. He leans over and presses a kiss to the very corner of Arthur’s mouth.

Arthur looks over at him wordlessly. They lay side by side on the bed, watching each other breathe.

Merlin thinks back to their introduction and the first time they exchanged heated words. He recalls their verbal sparring match and how unwilling they both were to back down. He remembers the challenge in Arthur’s eyes that day, the challenge that is still there and always will be.

What Merlin sees when he looks into Arthur’s eyes now is the promise of more.

* * *


End file.
